


It's Better To Burn

by mickeymilkchild (kittleimp)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Drug Dealing, M/M, Murder, New Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, unimportant character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3900496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/mickeymilkchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After four years free of his father, Mickey has finally found a guy that might be worth his time. Ian's a sassy waiter at a shitty diner with an enormous family and a sweet smile. He also has a penchant for keeping secrets. What does that mean for their relationship? Why does Ian's older brother hate Mickey so much?</p><p>And what the <i>hell</i> does Ian have to do with the mysterious deaths plaguing the South Side?</p><p>  <b>[A Shameless Werewolf AU]</b></p><p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/post/118064508548/shameless-au-werewolves-the-gallaghers).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [my tumblr post](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/post/118064508548/shameless-au-werewolves-the-gallaghers), which was done for an [alternateshameless](http://alternateshameless.tumblr.com) prompt. For more information on this AU, check out [its tag](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/tagged/werewolf+au).

Dark alleys aren’t supposed to be a safe place.

Mickey finds himself reflecting on this fact as he crouches, gasping, against the scummy bricks next to a dumpster. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears drowns out the city's noise, but he still strains to hear footsteps.

They approach three heartbeats later and pause for an instant at the mouth of the passageway. After a single beat, they resume and fade, along with the angry shouts.

Mickey counts ten more heartbeats behind the dumpster and tries to slow his breathing. When he finally stands, he can feel the sweat beginning to cool on his skin. Fuck, he needs a shower. That will be the first thing he does when he gets home.

For now, Mickey adjusts the tattered backpack on his shoulders and strolls back out onto the sidewalk. A confident walk doesn’t come naturally, not when he stands at five-foot-seven, not when his brothers are so much taller, but he learned it early on in life. One foot, then the other. Shoulders down. Eyes narrowed. Think about murdering everyone you pass in a violent, yet calculating manner. If that doesn’t work, pretend that they’re Terry.

The hostility in his eyes freezes the waitress’s grin when he walks into a diner two blocks away. He was headed for lunch when he caught the attention of the idiots in uniform. Fucking cops. Maybe he should pretend everyone on the street is a cop instead. He snorts at the thought, and the petite woman relaxes, a beaming smile quickly replacing her frown.

“Welcome to Patsy’s Pies!” she chirps. “Take a seat anywhere you’d like and someone will be with you in just a moment!”

Before he can grunt out a reply, she bounces away. He watches her blonde ponytail swinging behind her with raised eyebrows, but rolls his eyes. She's the sort of girl that leaves him confused and vaguely upset. Everything he has ever been told says he should be attracted to her thin waist, round bust, and soft face. Instead he just wonders how she manages the false joy for hours at a time.

The waiter who walks up as soon as Mickey chooses a small booth has the right idea. His lips are twisted into a smirk, which is probably in reaction to Mickey's unkempt appearance, but there is no faux excitement. There are freckles, though, and they look pretty damn fine spattered under sea green eyes. Then there's the muscular chest that is almost hidden by his t-shirt. Yeah, this one is more Mickey's type. The ginger sets a single menu on the table.

"Welcome to Patsy's, my name's Ian and I'll be your server today," the man says, lips twitching up even more as he meets Mickey's eyes. "Do you know what you'd like?"

_You._

"Coffee," Mickey says, glancing toward the menu. "Whatever the pie of the day is, too. Just a slice."

He sticks the menu out for the waiter - Ian, was it? - to take. This is a new place for him, only visited because the health department shut the diner down the road, and apple pie is the unofficial test of a good pie restaurant. Hot waiters are a bonus, of course. Said waiter’s cold fingers brush Mickey’s and send a shiver up his spine. When he looks back, Ian flashes that smirk again. Mickey wonders if he'd be such a sassy shit in bed.

"Coming right up," Ian says and fucking _winks_. Who the hell _fucking winks?_

Mickey stares after him with wide eyes, glancing down to his ass just before he walks behind the diner’s counter. Oh, that just isn’t fucking fair. He can see the toned curve, even through Ian’s faded jeans. Definitely unfair.

He tries desperately to push the image out of his mind. It isn’t that he is scared of being gay anymore, he just doesn’t want to pop a boner right here and now. The fears that used to have him locked in the closet disappeared with his piece-of-shit father, currently serving his fourth year of a ten year sentence. He celebrated on the day of his father’s incarceration by blowing a stranger in the bathroom of a gay bar somewhere in Boystown.

At first, the men he met gave him nothing more than a way to move past the terror his father had created in him, then they became something more enjoyable. It took him four months to trust someone enough to top him. Three weeks later, he had his first kiss with with a smiling guy who somehow became his boyfriend.

They didn’t last. Nobody was surprised. When they broke up not even two months after they began, his ex advised him to quit being a homophobic shit before he so much as looked at anyone else. It took months of reading and listening - two things that Mickey was unfamiliar with - before he started to be less of an asshole. The only way he could tell he was improving was a vague sense of embarrassment toward how he used to act.

Four years has made a hell of a difference. Instead of giving Ian an unimpressed glare when he returns with the coffee and a smirk, Mickey looks him over slowly. Dwelling on the muscles beneath his uniform won’t help him avoid an awkward boner, but then again neither will wondering if the carpet matches the drapes.

 _Probably,_ he decides as Ian leaves his table again.

Ian walks out of the kitchen carrying a black tray of food, muscular arms flexing under the weight, and that seals it. Mickey is going to hit that. Rather, he’s going to get that to hit him. Soon. Judging by the way that the waiter meets his eyes, he won’t have an issue with that plan.

Another waitress, one with wavy brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, has the nerve to interrupt their eyefucking before Ian can reach Mickey’s table. Ian relaxes immediately and smiles at her when she touches his arm. The fire in Mickey’s gut fades. Of course, he’s taken. Mickey doesn’t do taken people, especially not people taken by chicks. He’s not interested in being some guy’s dirty fucking secret; he respects himself too much for that.

“Here you go,” Ian says, practically purring as he sets a slice a warm slice of apple pie on the table. “Is there anything I else I can help you with?”

“I’m good,” Mickey replies curtly. He doesn’t look to see the audible quirked eyebrow, instead picking up his fork to poke at the filling. Mushy apples, soft crust… the pie is unimpressive. What a letdown.

Once he realizes that Mickey is no longer interested, Ian disappears to deal with his other tables. A college student wanders through the front door three minutes later and plops in front of Mickey with a smile. 

“Thanks for bringing my backpack, man. I really need those notes for the trig test,” they say easily, running a hand through their short, bleached hair. It falls back into their dark eyes immediately, but they don’t try to push it back again.

“S’all good. You got my brother’s rent check?” he replies, handing the backpack he had been carrying over the table.

They take it and hold out a wad of cash in return, “It’s cash, I hope that’s alright. I forgot to get a new checkbook.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Mickey says, standing. Before he leaves he turns back to the table. “You can have the pie if you want. I wasn’t hungry.”

When he turns around, he comes face-to-face with Ian. The redhead hands him a small clipboard with his bill written on it. Reluctantly, Mickey takes it and scribbles out an amount for the tip. He sets a ten dollar bill on the board before holding it back out.

“I hope I’ll see you again soon,” Ian says with another smirk, but this one doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Your girlfriend might not be too happy with that,” Mickey says and glances toward the brunette waitress.

Ian’s eyebrows draw together and he turns to follow Mickey’s gaze. He snorts and that stupid smirk - _not stupid, very fucking sassy and hot_ \- grows wider. Finally, he bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, fuck off,” Mickey mumbles, embarrassment bringing a bright blush to his cheeks as he pushes past the waiter.

It isn’t until he reaches the sidewalk that a large, strong hand wraps around his wrist. Of course, the shithead couldn’t just let him leave in peace. Mickey’s embarrassment quickly grows into anger. Ian steps back when Mickey yanks him arm away and holds his hands up in surrender. The action doesn’t stop Mickey from pulling a fist back to punch him.

“She’s my sister!” he exclaims.

...well _that_ would change things. Mickey steps back, eyebrows raised, and eyes the waiter in front of him skeptically. The six-foot-something ginger is, for all of his muscle, is fucking _cowering_. What a wimp.

“She doesn’t look like your sister,” Mickey comments.

“Half-sister,” Ian amends and stands up straight. “We grew up together.”

Mickey nods, “So what you’re saying is that you’re down to fuck?”

If Ian is surprised by the bluntness he doesn’t show it. In fact, he gives a huge, dumb grin. This whole thing is getting a bit too much and Mickey doesn’t want to hang around this place for another minute, but Ian starts talking before he can find an excuse to leave.

“Well, yeah, but I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner?”

“I don’t do dates,” Mickey says automatically. It’s a lie, he does dates from time to time, but he isn’t looking for a relationship. Especially not with over-excited ginger puppy types.

“Think of it as a prelude to fucking,” Ian suggests and damn, there it is. That fucking smirk. His bright eyes, which are the color of Lake Michigan on a sunny summer day, darken ever so slightly. “My shift ends in two hours. I’ll meet you at Archview?”

“Alright,” Mickey says, looking him over with a smirk. “Your ass better be worth it.”

“I don’t know about that, but my dick will be,” Ian says and quirks a brow.

Before Mickey can find the words to reply, the waiter disappearing through the diner’s doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated, but never necessary. Many thanks to my lovely beta, [WeMightAswellBeStrangers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers), for the help.
> 
> If you have any questions about this AU, feel free to ask them in a comment here or send an ask to my Shameless blog, [mickeymilkchild](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/ask).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t do dates. It’s just dinner followed by a fuck.”
> 
> “I’m pretty sure that’s what dates are."
> 
>  
> 
> _It isn’t a fucking date._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Please notice that the fic's rating is now Explicit, which will apply in future chapters. I finally realized that I couldn't just skirt around the smut for this fic.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy the chapter!

Dull excitement bounces rebelliously in Mickey’s chest as he pushes his front door open. He didn’t run into any cops on his way home, the wad of “rent money” he collected for his brother is thick in his pocket, and he’s been promised Grade-A dick by a hot guy. What could be bad about that?

“How’d it go at the new place?” Iggy calls weakly from the couch, giving a phlegmy cough.

“The food’s shit and there’s more cops than roaches,” Mickey replies and pulls the cash out of his pocket. “Plus, there’s a waiter there who had an eye on me.”

“We’ll find a new place,” Colin says as he walks in from the kitchen. “Is the waiter going to be a problem?”

“Nah, he was so focused on my ass that he didn’t even notice the drugs,” Mickey says with a shrug.

Colin presses his lips into a thin line and Mickey looks back to the money, which he divides out into three even piles. His siblings might be more accepting than his father would have been, but that isn’t saying much. Terry Milkovich makes anti-gay protests look like pride parades. Mickey’s older brother doesn’t say another word; he just grabs his pile of money and disappears into his room.

“You gonna hit that?” Iggy rasps once Colin is out of earshot.

In contrast to Colin’s quiet annoyance at Mickey’s sexuality, Iggy has almost seemed to embrace it. There have been enough blowjob and assfucking jokes to last a lifetime. For every time that Colin makes him feel bad about going out to pick up a guy, Iggy is there to crack a joke like he’s no different from the rest of the brothers.

“Fucking hope so, man. I’ve gone too fucking long without some decent dick,” Mickey sighs, pushing Iggy’s feet off of the cushions and settling onto the end of the couch.

“Too bad we’re related, man,” Iggy says with a smirk, but he launches into a coughing fit before he can appreciate the horrified look on Mickey’s face.

“God, you’re fucking _gross_ ,” Mickey says and sets the second pile of money on the table. “Take your cash and shut the fuck up.”

“Water,” Iggy rasps through his hacking.

Mickey groans and stands reluctantly, wandering to the kitchen obediently to pour his brother a fresh glass. He returns and hands it to the red-faced man. They’re not normally the sort of family to help each other, but Mickey remembers dealing with the same shitty cold only a few weeks before, and damn if that doesn’t make him appreciate Iggy’s need.

Finally, Iggy manages to catch his breath. He sets the empty glass on the coffee table and picks up his pile of cash, giving it a quick count before nodding. There isn’t as much when it’s split three ways, but the pay’s not bad considering he did half of the work he normally would.

“Sorry you had to go do that deal. I know you’re trying to stick to the scams and shit,” Iggy says apologetically.

“It’s all good. You can’t help being sick. Plus, the moving truck thing we had planned this week got shut down. Apparently we didn’t sound ‘reliable enough,’” Mickey replies, using air quotes and an eye roll for emphasis.

That draws a chuckle from Iggy, “Come on, that’s dumb. You were just going to sell all of their shit. What’s unreliable about that?”

“Glad someone sees reason.”

Mickey pats Iggy’s shoulder and stands, stretching as he wanders through the house. Ian had said he wouldn’t be out of work for two hours. Mickey glances up at the old, cracked clock on the wall. Shit. Still an hour and a half to go before Mickey can leave without being embarrassingly early. Time to talk to a time-wasting professional.

Before he can finish knocking on her bedroom door, Mandy pulls it open. She’s in her underwear again, but that hasn’t been surprising since she was fifteen or so. The thing that catches his attention is what she’s wearing to cover her tits.

“Bitch, is that my fucking shirt?” he asks.

“Not my fault the washing machine is fucking broken again,” she shrugs. “Iggy’s got the plague and Colin is still banned from the tools after the microwave thing.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, “I’ll fix it tomorrow, alright? I’ve got some time, but not enough to deal with that fucking thing again.”

“Oh? Where are you rushing off to?” Mandy asks curiously as she leans against her doorframe.

He smirks in response, “Hooking up with a waiter.”

Iggy may be the most accepting brother, but Mandy still has him beat by miles. She figured him out back when he was seventeen and getting it on with one of her friends. When she cursed him out, he found that it wasn’t about his orientation at all. It turns out that sisters don’t like it when their brothers screw their crushes. Go fucking figure.

Mandy forgave him when he hooked her up with some guy who lived down the road, and became the best friend he never knew he needed. With her help, he gathered up the courage to bring his first boyfriend home. She ran interference with the oldest Milkovich boys, Jamie and Tony, who were far from enthusiastic about having a gay brother.

“Details,” she demandes, quirking a brow.

“He's a ginger; pale skin, a shitload of freckles, the works. Green eyes… I think, at least,” Mickey says and pauses to think back. “They’re probably somewhere between blue and green, but they seemed pretty damn green to me.”

Mandy nods, “Is he a twig? You know how those usually are.”

“Nah, he’s got muscles and an attitude.”

“An attitude?” Mandy says, raising her eyebrows. “You don’t usually talk about their personalities, Mick.”

“It isn’t like that, he’s just a sassy little shit,” Mickey insists, but it’s too late; he feels the blush rising to his cheeks.

“Mhm, okay. So what’s his name?”

“Ian,” he says before he can catch himself.

Mickey can definitely feel the heat on his face now. He doesn’t _do_ names, not with guys he’s just planning to fuck. Even if he knows them. Ian should be something else, something like Red or Firecrotch, something safe and anonymous.

He sure as hell shouldn’t be _Ian_.

Mandy doesn’t say anything more, just hums and levels a knowing look at him. That’s the downside of having a sister who gives a shit. She fucking _knows_ , sometimes even before he realizes it, and it drives him up the wall. He turns away from her door with a snort and stalks back down the hallway, ducking into his room.

Mickey pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into the overflowing laundry hamper. Mandy loves clubs and shit, so of course she would think that he should focus on appearances. Personalities don’t matter much on a dance floor. However, it is _perfectly normal_ to talk about some guy’s personality. Ian’s especially. So what if he uses the guy’s name? It’s a short one, pretty damn easy to groan in bed, so why make up some cheesy nickname?

That’s a weak excuse and he knows it. Better stick to calling him Red.

With a heavy sigh, Mickey unbuttons his tattered jeans and shoves his boxers down with them. He can feel the grime on his skin from at least a day without showering. That’s not something he would normally care about, but tonight is different. It would be pretty rude of him to show up to fuck smelling like sweat and dumpster.

The shower in Mickey’s bathroom is pretty shitty. Years of grime have left stains that won’t go away, no matter how much he scrubs. The water pressure is more like gentle pissing than a proper shower, and the layer of rust around the faucet is almost as thick as the tap itself. None of that matters. It's his.

When Terry got carted off for his ten years, the Milkovich kids were left to deal with the mess of a house. It wasn’t like they cleaned the whole thing up, but they managed the basics. Iggy finally fixed the other toilet. Jamie called in a favor to get the bathroom’s tub patched up, Mickey replaced the showerhead, and Tony stole enough cleaning products for Mandy to scrub the whole thing down.

Mickey picks up his shampoo and squirts a glob into his hand. The shower is a mindless thing, but the habitual actions are enough to distract him from Mandy’s bullshit. Instead he thinks about the upcoming night out with Ia- _Red._ His wallet is full with the cut from that deal, so he won’t have a problem paying for a cheap dinner at Archview. There should also be enough for a cheap-but-not-too-cheap motel room. Somewhere that won’t give them a disease, but nowhere that will leave him broke.

The thoughts carry him back to his room. He towels off and digs a clean pair of boxers out of his dresser. There’s only two pairs of clean jeans in the next drawer, so the fact that he slips into the nicer pair has nothing to do with the fact that they’re not torn or stained. It’s just that the others ones make his ass look flat.

“Fuck, Mandy wasn’t kidding. You’re all dressed up.”

Mickey turns to glance at the door. Iggy is watching him button his black shirt - the only clean shirt he has that doesn’t have the sleeves cut off - from just outside of his room. He laughs as Mickey slips a couple of fresh condoms and a packet of lube into his wallet.

“Fuck off, I’m just running out of clean clothes. I’ll fix the washer tomorrow,” Mickey says, going back to rolling his sleeves up.

“You going on a date with the guy?” Iggy asks, shuffling into the room.

“Hey, get your fucking germs out of here,” Mickey snaps. “I don’t do dates. It’s just dinner followed by a fuck.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what dates are,” Iggy says as he walks back out.

“It’s nothing special, Jesus, get off my ass,” Mickey calls after him.

“Don’t forget to put some cologne on.”

Even as he flips Iggy off over his shoulder, Mickey is glancing around for the bottle. It’s still half full, showing just how often he uses, but why not put some on tonight? If he puts in some extra effort then maybe Red will pay him back in kind when they hit the bedroom.

_It isn’t a fucking date._

By the time he has slicked his hair back and shaved his stubble, it’s late enough that he can begin his trek to Archview. He’ll just have to walk slowly... and maybe take the long way, just to be safe. He slips on a pair of shoes that aren’t too scuffed up, but that’s only because it’d look dumb to wear beat up chucks with a halfway decent outfit, he tells himself gruffly, and steps out into the living room.

“Nice look,” Mandy teases from the kitchen.

He flips her off, then flips off the Iggy-shaped lump on the couch for good measure.

“Be back eventually,” he says and stuffs his phone into his pocket with his wallet. “Don’t get arrested tonight. I’m not bailing anyone out until I’ve gotten laid.”

Mandy rolls her eyes, but gives a loose salute as he walks to the front door.

Mickey finds his heart beating harder than it should be while he walks over. He frowns and takes a deep breath, trying to slow it, pacing each banging thump with the steps he takes. Left, bang, right, bang, left, bang... there's nothing special about this, he tells himself. It’s just a fucking _fuck_. Red’s just another guy, albeit a pretty damn hot guy, but he’s nothing different than any of the others Mickey has hooked up with.

Except they’re going to dinner first.

No matter how many times he replays the moment in his mind, Mickey can’t figure out why the hell he agreed to dinner. That’s not something he does. Drinks, maybe, if they’re already at a bar, but barely even that. He’s down for a quickie in a bathroom stall, a visit to a cheap motel, or even an occasional night at some guy’s apartment. Not dinner. Not lunch. Hell, he doesn’t even stay for breakfast unless the guy is already making something when he wakes up.

So how the hell did he end up here, with his eyes locking on Red’s in front of Archview? The guy is smirking, he’s always fucking smirking, and Mickey can’t bring himself to be anything but excited for what lies ahead.

“Nice to see you again,” Red says. “Didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“Mickey,” he says and for the first time in months, he finds himself itching for a cigarette.

“Nice to see you, Mickey.”

Red pulls the door open and motions for Mickey to step inside. He mumbles a quick “thank you” as he steps through and keeps his hands stuffed into his pockets as an over-worked waitress leads them to an open booth. She leaves with their drink orders - two beers, she doesn’t bother to card them - and Mickey turns back to his not-date.

The guy definitely doesn’t look like he just got off of a shift at a shitty diner. His hair is styled carefully, trimmed close on the sides and just long enough on the top to be swept back with some product to hold it in place. His shirt, a long-sleeved plaid thing, hangs open to show of the tighter t-shirt underneath it.

Saying it’s a good look would be an understatement. To make matters worse, he’s eyeing Mickey like he might not make it to the hotel without jumping him. The situation is spinning out of control and Mickey can _not_ let that happen.

“So, Red, you take all the boys out to dinner before you fuck them?” he asks.

“ _Don’t,_ ” Red snaps so harshly that Mickey jerks back in his seat. The playful, sexy demeanor from earlier is nowhere to be found. “Don’t call me that. My name is Ian and you’ll fucking use it.”

“Jesus, fine, no need to get all pissy,” Mickey mumbles, eyeing him cautiously.

The harsh glare that Ian is leveling at him relaxes after a few seconds, fading with a sigh. Ian shakes his head and looks back to Mickey sheepishly.

“Sorry, that was a bit harsh,” he says with a softer tone. “I just get sick of the generic nicknames, you know? Red, Gingersnap, Firecrotch, Annie, Pippi Longstocking, all that shit. Gets old, you know?”

“Yeah, sort of. Have enough siblings and you’ll get called by any name but your own,” Mickey says, trying to seem understanding. Mostly he just feels an unreasonable amount of embarrassment.

“I know, right?” Ian agrees, chuckling. “I’ve got so many that sometimes _I_ forget my name. I don’t even know all of theirs.”

Mickey laughs, “I’ve got five and that’s not even counting the ones that don’t live with us.”

“No shit, me too!”

Then Ian laughs. Not some little chuckle or snort, but a full on laugh. His whole face lights up and Mickey’s breath catches in his chest.

Who is he kidding, this is _so_ a fucking date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated! They are never necessary, but it warms my heart to see them and nothing makes me want to write more than knowing other people want to read my fics.
> 
> A huge thanks to [Sophie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers) for the editing and encouragement! She recently finished her amazing multi-chapter fic, [Zero Hundred Hours](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3710863), and you should all check it out.
> 
> For more Shameless, [visit me on tumblr](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey has never considered himself a size queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please note that this is now an E rated fic. The whole "werewolf" thing will be coming up soon, I promise. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Mickey has never considered himself a size queen.

Early on in his quest for dick, he was so desperate that he took whatever he could get. Even after he got more experience he didn’t care too much about the size of the dicks he put in his ass. Sure, if he realized they were too small to make an impression he fucked _them_ instead, but as long as it was wrapped in a condom and covered in lube, he wasn’t particularly picky.

He’s going to be fucking picky after this.

When Ian insists on sticking a third finger up his ass, even with Mickey already panting and sweaty beneath him, Mickey is about ready to kill him. Prep is fucking important. This much prep is teasing and he does _not_ need more teasing from this sassy little shit, especially after the long, excruciating minutes Ian spent mouthing at his cock before he even put his damn lips around it.

All in all, Mickey is getting pretty impatient. His thighs are shaking, his lip stings where his teeth are digging into it, and every lucky twist of Ian’s fingers has another tormented grunt escaping his throat. _Too. Much. Fucking. Prep._ He turns his head to glare over his shoulder at the boy behind him, only to have Ian finally pull his fingers out and reach for his own waistband.

It all makes sense when, at long fucking last, Ian pulls his boxers off and stands naked in front of him..

He must be nine inches, at an estimate, and Mickey has the immediate urge to wrap a fist around it. _Later,_ he promises himself, because there’s no way he’s not touching that thing at some point. Sucking it, even, and he doesn’t do that often. Too many guys have tried to take control for him to give them out freely. When he gives a blowjob, he gives it the way _he_ wants to.

Before that train of thought can get out of hand, Ian is rolling a condom over his length and following it with a handful of lube. He looks up to Mickey and fucking _smirks_.

“Next time maybe you’ll trust me,” he says as he lines himself up. 

_Next time_ , Mickey thinks incoherently as Ian pushes into him.

The first thrust is slow enough for Mickey to feel every long, hot inch. Ian drags along, sucking in even, shuddering breaths, while Mickey drops his head and moans lowly. Even the toys he’s bought over the years don’t stretch him like this. Thankfully, Ian takes his time, giving him chance to adjust.

And then he starts moving.

Between the flooding thoughts of _fuck, he’s huge_ and _holy fucking shit_ , Mickey wonders how the hell Ian got this sort of experience. He looks like an over-excited puppy half the time and now he’s pounding into Mickey like a fucking animal. Not that he’s complaining.

Ian has one hand on the bed and another wrapped around Mickey’s hip, gripping him just tight enough to bring a dull ache to the surface that has Mickey pressing back even harder against the boy pounding violently into him. With every thrust, Ian uses his hold to pull Mickey’s hips back against his own. Mickey finds himself realizing why porn stars moan so loud.

“ _Fuck, Mickey,_ ” Ian gasps. Unexpectedly, the sound of Ian's low voice pries another high, desperate moan out of Mickey's throat.

The hand on his hip hurts now. He can feel Ian’s fingernails biting into the skin and he won’t be surprised if he finds angry, red lines there later. That’s okay. He would never admit it, but the idea of Ian marking him is strangely appealing.

Ian pauses his relentless rhythm, but before Mickey can gather the air to protest, the redhead wraps an arm around Mickey’s chest and pulls him closer. Now his back is up against Ian’s chest and he’s sitting on the redhead's lap. In this new position, Ian's thrusts hit even deeper and harder than before. The breath he had taken in for a complaint tears from his throat in a loud, throaty moan.

Without any thought beyond _more_ , Mickey rolls his hips instinctively and grinds against Ian. They build a new rhythm together; the mixture of Ian rocking up into Mickey, and Mickey pressing back down onto Ian has them both gasping. Just as Mickey thinks he might come without being touched, Ian wraps a hand around his cock and starts pumping it. Their rhythm falls apart immediately.

Mickey’s moans echo off of the walls of the motel room and Ian muffles his own voice by pressing his mouth to Mickey’s shoulder. He sucks a dark hickey into the soft skin between gasps, adding to the collection that he had left earlier in the night. Before he can think it through, Mickey reaches back and tangles his hand in Ian’s sweat-slick hair. Ian groans at the the tugging and bites at Mickey’s shoulder hard enough to draw a sharp hiss from the smaller man.

“ _Fuck, I’m fucking close, oh fuck,_ ” Mickey chokes out in a rush.

Whatever Ian says, however undoubtedly hot it must have been, is lost as Mickey cries out. White streaks cover his stomach and drip down Ian’s tight fist. The world doesn’t explode into fireworks like people say it does, but in that moment, all that matters is that Ian is gasping between moans as he continues to thrust into Mickey.

Finally, just as Mickey is starting to feel a bit too raw, Ian shudders behind him. Mickey can feel the groan that tears from Ian’s chest against his back. A head of red hair, damp with sweat, falls against Mickey’s shoulder.

“Damn,” Ian says breathlessly, chuckling softly and slipping out.

“Yeah,” Mickey agrees as he rolls slowly away from the heat of Ian's body. “You didn’t tell me you were a fucking porn star, man.”

“Only once,” Ian says with an innocent shrug.

_Wait, what?_

Deciding that it was probably a joke, Mickey stretches slowly and cracks his neck. He follows when Ian climbs off the bed on shaky legs to drop the tied-off condom in the trash, thighs still quivering from the exertion. Once Mickey reaches the bathroom, he wets a washcloth and cleans himself off, wiping the drying mess off of his stomach and chest before running the damp cloth over his ass to clean up the lube.

Ian steps into the bathroom next to him and washes his hand off in the sink, then uses a second washcloth to clean himself up. Mickey swats at his ass to make him leave and closes the door to take a piss. Nature calls, after all. When he wanders back out, he can’t help but smile at the naked man sprawled across the bed.

“Staying here tonight?” Ian asks sleepily, looking over to Mickey questioningly.

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs.

As he climbs into the bed and pulls the covers up over both of them, Mickey is struck by a sense of unease. Ironically enough, he finds that the worry is simply over how _easy_ this feels. Ian rolls onto his side and smiles softly at Mickey before closing his eyes, shifting to burrow a little deeper into the blanket.

“Were you serious about that porno?”

Ian’s eyes open again and he squints at the dark haired boy lying next to him. He blinks a few times as he processes the question, then smirks as his eyelids drop closed again.

“I’d offer to bring you a copy, but I don’t have one,” he says with a single-shouldered shrug. “Plus, you have to get to date number three before you unlock my tragic backstory.”

This time, Mickey doesn’t bother reminding Ian that it wasn’t supposed to be a date. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a fucking duck. He also doesn’t mention that the thought of going on more dates with Ian actually sounds pretty fucking good. There’s no reason to show his hand, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Settling on responding with a grunt, he rolls away from Ian and tries to get comfortable. Just as he manages to get the pillows situated, Ian’s arm drapes over his waist and and Mickey goes stiff. Spooning? Really? He should push Ian off now, save them both the trouble of dealing with it later.

“I’ll get off of you if you tell me to, but I’m really fucking comfortable,” Ian mumbles against Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey bites his lip to hold back the smile that is tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh, who cares? Ian’s the only one who will know if Mickey doesn’t push him away. Plus, he had sounded almost... hopeful. He lets himself drift slowly into a satisfied sleep without so much as a word of protest.

Ian walks home in the early morning with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. He had woken up at six to a phone blaring across the room. Surprisingly, Mickey was more than ready to drag himself out of bed before sunrise for work. They didn’t get a chance for morning sex before he had to leave, but Mickey gave Ian his number with only a tired smirk to serve as his thin mask of indifference.

The mask dropped in a heartbeat when Ian leaned in to steal a swift kiss goodbye.

All in all, Ian’s morning has been a good one. After lazing around in the motel room - Mickey promised that it was paid for until eleven - and taking complete advantage of the complimentary breakfast, he started making his way home on foot.

By the time he pushes the front door open, the Gallagher household is finally starting to rise. Fiona is already sitting at the table with a mug of cheap coffee, sorting over the day’s bills and to-do lists. She looks up as Ian sets a small bag down on the table.

“I filled the bag they put in the ice bin with free breakfast food and ran,” he explains and slides into the seat across from her.

Fiona smiles at him in response, “Thanks, now I don’t have to make breakfast. You’re back early. Did the date go badly?”

“It was great,” he says with a grin. “He had to work early this morning, but he paid for the motel and I got his number.”

“Is this that guy who did a drug deal in the booth by the door?” Fiona asks, slipping into her worried mother role.

“You can’t judge a guy just because he deals drugs,” Ian says with a shrug. “It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, just that he... you know, is a drug dealer.”

“As long as you’re being careful,” she says. “When you call him, it might be a good idea to let him know that you’re heading out of town for a few days. The full moon starts on Thursday.”

Ian nods, making a mental note. At that moment, the rest of the family begins to wander into the kitchen. Ian offers up the bag of goodies to his siblings and stands back to let the younger kids spring on the sugary surprise. Donuts, pop tarts, muffins, it’s a treasure trove of junk food. He had even tried to appease Fiona, shoving some fruit and bagels in with the rest at the last moment.

Lip strolls into the kitchen and whacks the side of Ian’s head as in a brotherly fashion he passes. Ian grits his teeth and chooses to be the bigger person this time around. The brothers have been best friends since they were young, aided in no small part by the fact that they are only a year apart, but tensions have risen in the past couple of years.

Fiona blames the constant bickering and occasional blow ups on the rise in testosterone and demands that they knock it off. Whenever Ian thinks he might be able to handle doing as she says, Lip reminds him just how fucking infuriating he can be. His brother’s shitty personality has very little to do with testosterone.

Lip sits down at the table and sips his own cup of coffee. He quietly muches his way through a stale raspberry danish, then leans back and looks his younger brother over. The condescending smirk on his face has Ian feeling more than ready to throw a punch before Lip even opens his mouth.

“Someone had a good night,” he finally says. Ian finds himself with the foolish hope that Lip will leave it there. “I take it your date didn’t get arrested?”

“Fuck off, Lip,” Ian sighs.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, man. You’ve never had the best taste in guys, you know?”

Ian’s jaw tenses as Lip starts poking at one of his well-known sore spots. That’s one of the things that sucks about being close to your family, he figures. They know exactly which buttons to press. Every embarrassing story, every area of sensitivity. Now that Lip has found something to latch onto, he won’t let it go until he gets the reaction he wants - and he will, of course.

“I mean, even ignoring the guys from school, on the grounds that they were either experimenting or stuck in the closet; they’ve all been shitbags,” Lip continues smugly. “I mean, really? Your first boyfriend was your _boss_. He was at least twice your age and married to your other boss. They had fucking _kids_. Then there was that time JimmySteve’s dad rubbed his dick on me because he thought I was you. He was married with kids too, actually. Does your new guy have a family too?”

The rest of the family has frozen, waiting to see how Ian reacts to Lip’s prodding. More than anything, he would love to launch across the table and beat the smug smirk off of his brother’s face, but he has enough self control to realize that the kitchen table is not the best place for that fight. Instead, he finds a more acceptable route.

“Not that he’s told me about,” he says lightly with a shrug. “Hey, Lip, Kev mentioned that he needed a few people to fill in at the fights tonight. You down for it?”

“Sure, I could use the cash,” Lip agrees and the whole table relaxes.

The reality is, Kevin probably has enough fighters already, but Ian has known the guy since he was a kid. If anyone is going to love seeing a brother-vs-brother brawl, it’s Kev. Vee doesn’t go to the weekly fights that Kevin holds, so Fiona won’t find out until later. The day is shaping up to be pretty good after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! In addition, thank you for your comments and kudos. Whenever I get an email about them, it makes my day. <3
> 
> As always, much love to my beta buddy, [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers).
> 
> Is there a Shameless fic you love? Do you write a Shameless fic? [Send me a title and an author in an ask](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll read it! My favorites will get a review and be added to my rec tag or rec page.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! It has been overwhelming and absolutely amazing. <3
> 
> As always, thank you to [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers) for keeping me on track.
> 
> I made a short playlist of songs I associate with this fic, so feel free to check it out [here](http://8tracks.com/kittleimp/it-s-better-to-burn)!

Heading home after a successful day of work is always a good feeling.

Mickey’s pockets are stuffed with cash from the pawn shop, which has been a fairly steady gig for the past couple of months. His pickpocketing skills have gotten pretty fucking sharp and the guy who runs the place is always happy to have some nice shit to sell. It’s a happy partnership.

Another criminal gig isn’t the safest bet, but it’s better than dealing drugs. He was raised to be good at moving product, but the cops have their eye on the Milkovich family thanks to Terry’s past shenanigans. More time behind bars? No, he’d had his fill back in juvie. Mickey found the pawn shop and decided to leave the riskier behavior to his brothers.

“Nice hickey, Mickey!” Iggy calls out teasingly almost as soon as Mickey steps into the house.

Mickey glares at the sick man, who is sporting a shit-eating grin from his spot on the couch. Mandy walks out of the kitchen with a smirk of her own and gives the marks on his neck a close examination. She’s always had to deal with the most teasing about her sexcapades, so he can’t say he’s surprised that she is excited to return the favor.

“Hickey Mickey!” she says, then laughs. “Damn, he marked you up _good_. No chance of hiding ‘em.”

With a slap to the side of his neck, she spins back around and disappears through the kitchen door. Mickey flips her off when she’s not looking and turns back to the couch. He delivers a swift smack to the back of Iggy’s head and ignores the loud whining he gets in response. So what if the fucker is still hacking and wheezing? The whole family knows how much Mickey hates being teased.

Colin is walking down the hallway when Mickey heads over to his room. His eyes dart to Mickey’s neck, which is covered in a constellation of bruises from the night before. Their eyes meet, but he only mumbles something about fixing the washing machine and brushes past Mickey.

Mickey would put up with the good-natured teasing happily if only Colin would join in.

Back before he came out, before his dad checked in for a long-term stay at the metal motel, Mickey didn’t hope for much in terms of acceptance. All he wanted was to not get the shit beaten out of him for being gay. When Mandy bitched him out for fucking her friend, not just for fucking a guy, he was elated. Coming out was almost disappointingly anti-climatic. Nobody laid a finger on him. In fact, Iggy even offered to hook him up with some dude he knew.

The years of peace and acceptance have raised Mickey’s standards. He understands that being able to come out at all with his limbs in tact was a blessing, but he can’t deny that he’d like to have his brothers back. It’s not easy to keep his head held high with the way that his brothers - not including Iggy, of course - started treating him when he came out.

Tony and Jamie used to have his back when he needed protection or some added bulk, even though Mickey has always been able to handle himself. Two walls of muscle present a more intimidating picture than a scrawny kid with a dented metal bat.

Since his coming out, however, the two of them have avoided him whenever possible and won’t say more than a word at a time. He wouldn’t do a run with them now if his life depended on it. Something about the cold feeling that grows in his gut when they’re around has him thinking that they wouldn’t be in a hurry to help him, even if he were bleeding out on the sidewalk.

When Mickey realized that none of his siblings were quite as bad as his dad, he had assumed that Iggy and Colin would back him up more than anyone else. Instead, Iggy asked for a few days to process the news and Colin simply walked out of the room silently.

Colin, at the very least, isn’t openly hostile. That would be enough with anyone else, but this is _Colin_. Maybe it was something about the lack of an age gap, or maybe they just had personalities that meshed well, but they had always gotten along perfectly. Iggy completed the trio of baby-faced Milkovich brothers. The two of them were always the closest thing Mickey had to actual friends.

Two weeks of Colin’s complete refusal to speak with Mickey made it pretty damn clear that their brotherly bond didn’t mean shit after all.

Mickey tries to shake the familiar disappointment and walks into his bedroom. Once the door is closed, he lets out a deep sigh and unbuttons his shirt. He tosses it into the overflowing laundry hamper on his way to the bathroom to see the damage that Ian did. Sure enough, the marks on his neck stand out even more than they had the night before. Each one is dark purple against his pale skin. They won’t be disappearing for the next couple of weeks. He shoves down his grin until he’s back in his room.

His upbeat mood is somewhat dampened by how empty his dresser drawers are. Colin wasn’t kidding about fixing the washer. With the quality of communication between the residents of the house, Mickey wouldn’t be surprised if the damn thing has been broken for a week or more. With a groan, he digs a pair of basketball shorts and a tattered t-shirt out of his pile of dirty clothes. Time to play handyman.

When Ian stops by the Alibi to talk to Kev about fight night, he fully expects the man to shrug and agree to it without an argument. The fights are a great way to blow off steam and, if you’re the betting type, make some cash. Lip and Ian have used it as a way to settle shit before, and Kev has never had an issue with it.

Still, Kev's enthusiastic response is a little overwhelming. He's almost fucking cheering at the prospect.

“Thanks, Ian! Here, have one on the house,” he says excitedly and pours Ian a glass of beer.

“No problem, man. I’m always happy to beat the shit out of my brother,” Ian says with a shrug.

Kev slides the beer his way and pours refills for a few of the drunks slouching on their barstools. They’re all familiar, but Ian hasn’t got a clue what most of their names are. His father would know. He sips his beer and waits for Kev to finish tending to everyone else. When everyone has a glass of beer, a shot, or whatever fancy shit they were drinking, the bartender walks back over.

“I’ve got plenty of fighters this week, but nobody _interesting_ , you know? You and Lip always put on a good show,” Kev explains jovially. “What did he do to piss you off this time?”

“Talking shit about my choice in men,” Ian says takes a sip of his beer.

“Well, you did sleep with Steve’s dad,” Kev points out.

Ian sighs, “How many times do I have to tell you guys? I didn’t know until we went to dinner with Steve’s family.”

“Yeah, and then you kept screwing him anyway,” Kev says as he pours a refill for the guy two seats over.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ian replies resentfully. “This guy is different.”

“Ian, they’re all different until they aren’t,” Kev reminds him and moves to fill a drink at the other end of the bar.

Ian rolls his eyes and slips off of the bar stool. He strolls out of the bar and pulls out his phone the second he hits the sidewalk. After Carl showed up one afternoon with a stolen iPhone, JimmySteve demanded that Fiona let him buy the family phones. As usual, the rich asshole hadn’t actually paid attention to her protests, so she just insisted that they would be paying their own bill each month. None of them were enthusiastic about being treated like charity cases, but they can’t deny that having phones makes it easier to get in contact with each other.

While making his way down the sidewalk, Ian types out a quick text to Lip telling him that they’re on for the fight. Lip isn’t an idiot. He’s well aware that Ian is pissed and he knows why they’re going up against each other tonight, so Ian doesn’t bother pretending that this is just for Kev.

Just as he’s about to lock his phone, Ian’s phone chimes with a message alert from someone else.

_**Travis:** hey hot stuff what are you up to?_

Ian groans and drops onto the nearest empty bench. He hooked up with this guy, Travis, at a club in Boystown a few weeks before. The guy wasn’t really Ian’s type, all tall and gangly with almost no muscle to speak of, but he was sweet and more than willing to take it up the ass.

The sex was good and Travis made some pretty fantastic french toast in the morning, so Ian had agreed to a repeat a few days later. Round two was just as fun and easy as the first. When Travis had asked, Ian admitted that he would be up for getting together more often. It isn’t a bad thing to have a regular hook-up. Travis is a cool guy, easy to talk to, and Ian can’t say he doesn't enjoy giving that piece of ass a visit every once in a while.

Thing is, everyone else pales in comparison to Mickey.

_Heading to work soon._

_**Travis:** busy tonight?_

_Yeah sorry. Got plans with my brother._

_**Travis:** thats too bad_

_**Travis:** how long til work starts?_

_Fifteen minutes. I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late._

_**Travis:** alright see you later_

Ian sighs and stands up, pocketing the phone again. There will be a better time to tell Travis that he’s done with their arrangement. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Mickey is a sure thing yet. Either way, Ian wasn’t lying about work, and getting fired for being late would fucking suck. Putting Travis out of his mind, he hurries down the sidewalk.

As soon as the last screw is in place, Mickey sags against the wall of the laundry room and sighs. Sweat drips down his sides and glues his shirt to his back. The ancient machine put up a damn good fight, but he managed to unjam the switch and get the rusty heap working again. Mandy appears in the doorway as if she was watching him the whole time. Hell, knowing her, she probably was.

“This mean we can wash our clothes now?” she asks.

He nods tiredly, but pushes her back when she tries to approach the machine.

“Fuck no, bitch. I fixed this shit. That means I get first load,” he says and walks back down the hallway to grab the laundry basket from his room.

“Yeah, I bet you want a load,” she mutters grumpily, trailing after him.

He rolls his eyes, “Fuck off. I’m going out tonight, I need some decent alcohol after dealing with that thing.”

Mandy sighs, but hands over a five dollar bill without arguing. Funding Mickey’s night at the bar in return for a fixed washer isn’t a bad deal. She walks over to gather payment from the rest of the brothers and Mickey gets busy dragging his hamper to the laundry room. He tosses in some decent clothes first so he’ll have something fresh to wear to the bar, then fills the rest of the load with ripped jeans and sleeveless shirts.

“Wasn’t that one mine?” Iggy asks from behind him.

“Probably used to be,” Mickey admits with a shrug. “Once the sleeves come off you ain’t getting it back. You know that shit.”

Iggy just shrugs and holds out a few crumpled bills. Mickey takes them and shoves them into the pocket of his shorts. He doesn’t thank Iggy, they weren’t raised like that, but he does give him a nod before he continues loading the washer. Behind him, he hears Iggy shuffle down the hallway and into the bathroom.

When he closes the lid, the washer starts running without any issue. Perfect. By the time it’s late enough to go out, he’ll have fresh clothes to wear. He pulls his phone out and checks the notifications menu.

No new messages.

Early mornings aren’t Mickey’s best times, so he isn’t surprised that he forgot to get Ian’s number after giving his own. All he can do is hope that the guy texts him. Until then, he’ll go out and get drunk enough to pretend it’s normal to care this much about a hookup.

Ian nods to the kid standing the door of the Alibi and steps inside with Lip close behind him. The sign out front says that the bar is closed for a private event, just as it does every Tuesday night after eleven. He walks through the empty bar and opens the door to the basement. There’s already almost a hundred people in the massive space, cheering and screaming for the fighters.

In the center of the crowd, two petite wolves are snarling at each other. One of them, a scrawny one with muddy brown fur, is favoring his left paw. The other is lighter, almost sandy in color, has blood dripping from a bite in his ear. He lunges at the darker wolf and meets him in a flurry of claws and teeth.

Lip blends in with the crowd and starts cheering, but Ian stays on the edges until he finds the stack of old kegs that Kev is sitting on. The bartender grins at him and motions for him to climb up. Ian leaps up easily and takes a seat on the keg next to Kev. From this viewpoint, they can see the fight over the crowd.

“I hope you and Lip are ready! These guys are the best fight we’ve had all night, but they’re not going to last long,” Kev shouts over the crowd.

Ian nods and watches the snarling mess of a fight below. The Alibi has been a safe place for South Side’s werewolves ever since Kev took over for Stan, but the fight nights only started about a year back. The story goes Kev watched Fight Club and was struck with inspiration; Vee allows it on the condition that her husband never actually takes part. Sure, he may look hulking and terrifying both as a human and as a wolf, but she protects him like he’s a pup.

Finally, the lighter wolf manages to pin his opponent and Kevin blows the dog whistle that is hanging around his neck. Both wolves go slack and stumble away from each other. Their friends step forward with towels as they shift back to their human forms. After shaking hands, they stumble through the crowd with towels wrapped around their waist. Their friends pull supplies from the well-stocked first aid kit while they get dressed in the back of the room.

“You’re up, Gallaghers!” Kev shouts.

Lip is already wrapping a towel around his waist, so Ian climbs down from the stack of kegs and strips his clothes off quickly. A guy he used to be in ROTC with holds out a towel for him. He takes it and the crowd parts to let him into the ring, where Lip is already waiting for him with a smug smirk.

They don’t bother with smack talk. There’s no point pulling the bullshit posturing thing, not once they’re already stripped down and ready to fight. Kev shouts a command that Ian can barely hear through the blood rushing in his ears, but he gets the idea.

Time to shift.

Ian can feel his bones grind and grow underneath his skin, which is already sprouting thick fur. His face stretches, teeth lengthen, and the fingers holding up the towel shorten to form large, clawed paws. The fabric falls to the floor and he kicks it out of the way with a foot that is sprouting claws. Shifting is anything but graceful. Red fur grows over his newly-formed snout and along the protrusion that is quickly forming his tail. When he falls onto all fours, he shakes himself.

Across from him, Lip has shifted into his own wolf form. Ian can’t see the color as a wolf, but he knows that his brother has splotches of ginger fur here and there, especially on his snout and along the tip of his tail. The rest of his fur is either creamy white or a grey-brown.

Once they both have their bearings, the brothers bare their teeth in matching snarls. Ian has the advantage of his larger size, but he’s been in enough fights with his brother to know that he can’t do too much with that. Lip likes to play as dirty as anyone can. Keeping up with his fitness after quitting ROTC would allow Ian to outlast Lip, but that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to beat the shit out of this snarky asshole.

The high-pitched squeal of the dog whistle echoes through the basement and Ian leaps forward with a snarl and slams into his brother. He tries to sink his teeth into Lip’s shoulder, but only manages a shallow bite before he is thrown off. Lip’s teeth find his neck and Ian lets out a sharp yip, which turns into growl as he pushes back against brother and bites at whatever is closest.

The skin on Lip’s shoulder tears when he twists, teeth still lodged there, and Ian hears his brother cry out in pain. He only gets to enjoy his victory for a split second before he Lip drops lower and shoves against his legs, unbalancing him just long enough for Lip to bowl him over.

Now on his back, Ian can’t stop Lip from pouncing on him and sinking his teeth into Ian’s shoulder. He kicks at Lips face and stomach desperately. Many werewolves before him have lost a fight because they couldn’t get off of their back. When the kicks don’t push Lip off of him, Ian ducks his head and rams his hard skull into his brother’s face. All he gets for that is a bite to the snout.

Time to play dirty. This isn’t supposed to be an honorable fight, after all, this is Ian showing his brother not to fuck with him. Nothing communicates that better than a low blow. He kicks at Lip again, scratching against his chest and stomach. It takes a few tries to get the placement of his hind legs right, but finally he lands a kick right to his brother’s balls.

Lip _shrieks_.

Ian rolls off of his back and pounces onto the whining wolf, but the fight is already over. If it wasn’t obvious from Lip’s limp form, the shriek of the dog whistle makes that clear. He stumbles back, limping where Lip bit him the hardest. Both of them shift back, but Lip just curls into an even tighter ball once he’s back in his human form.

Once the towel is wrapped around his waist again, Ian pushes through the crowd that is closing around Lip and heads over to his clothes. He pulls on his boxers and gathers the rest of his stuff against his bare chest as he heads over to the first aid kit. With the overhead light shining on him, Ian can see that his legs don’t have any bite marks this time around, so he puts his jeans and socks back on. Once his ratty shoes are on - he needs a new pair, but even off-brand Converse are pretty damn expensive - he turns his attention to his injuries.

There are teeth marks on his blood-smeared neck, but it isn’t nearly as bad as the bite on his shoulder. He cleans both with hydrogen peroxide and tapes gauze over them. Movies and television like to exaggerate the healing abilities of werewolves, but they’re not too far off the mark. The bites won’t need the bandages by the next night.

Most of his other injuries are bruises that he can’t do anything for. The only other bleeding wounds are the gashes on either side of his nose from Lip’s harsh bite, so he cleans them out. They aren’t bad enough to warrant face bandages. He looks down and runs his fingers over the claw marks on his chest, but he can’t see any broken skin.

Lip hobbles over just as Ian is tugging his shirt back on. He stands up, giving Lip space to tend to his wounds. Normally they would shake hands and help each other clean up, but Ian takes one look at the glare Lip is directing at him and decides to head out for the night.

When he hits the cool air outside, Ian can’t help but smile. Adrenaline is still buzzing in his veins and he wants to just fucking _run_. Part of it is the fight and part of it is the rush he gets from shifting. Instead of taking off to jog for a few miles like he normally would, Ian pulls out his cellphone and types out a quick message.

_Hey Mickey it’s Ian. Busy?_

_**Mickey:** depends what u mean by busy_

_**Mickey:** if u mean drunk yes_

_**Mickey:** if u mean dtf very yes_

Well damn, Mickey doesn’t waste time with this shit.

_Where you wanna meet?_

_**Mickey:** motel? im in canaryville rn_

Ian pauses at that and looks around. Canaryville? _His_ Canaryville? He almost expects to see Mickey sitting on one of the dirty benches behind him, but the only one he can see has a bum sleeping on it. Just as he’s about to look back to his phone, he hears a familiar, surprised voice behind him.

“Ian?”

He turns around to see Mickey standing in the middle of the sidewalk looking perfectly confused. He’s more dressed down than he had been the night before and his hair is only lazily styled, but he’s got a cigarette between his fingers and he looks just as hot as Ian remembers. Ian stuffs his phone back into his pocket and walks over to him with a wide smile. The confusion on Mickey’s face twists into poorly masked concern when he notices Ian’s injuries.

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Mickey asks, but Ian simply shrugs.

“Disagreement with my brother,” he explains and hey, at least he’s honest. “Doesn’t matter. Are you up for finding a motel?”

“Fuck that, my place is like ten minutes away,” Mickey says casually.

“Can’t argue with that,” Ian replies easily and turns to follow Mickey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day!
> 
> Visit me on tumblr [here](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com) or, for everything not Shameless, [here](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been too long, my friends! I apologize for my long absence. Life has been crazy lately and I'm sorry to say that it will continue to be pretty weird. Much thanks to [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers/pseuds/MapsWindsor) for the beta work!

Mickey wakes up to see particles of dust swirling in the bars of light peeking through his blinds. 

His back is pressed against the wall, one arm folded comfortably under his chest, and his other hand is wrapped gently around a pale, freckled bicep. Ian’s eyes are still closed and his lips are red and swollen, parted just slightly. As he blinks lazily, Mickey smiles to himself, remembering what happened in that very bed just hours ago.

The sex was fucking amazing, there was no other way to put it. Ian can press him into the bed and pound him better than anyone ever has; he knows how to be relentless and rough, but also when to fuck Mickey at a slow, torturous pace that had him nearly _begging_ for more. After they’d finished and cleaned up, they had laughed breathlessly and pulled the blankets up to cover their cooling, naked bodies. Mickey doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

Carefully, trying to move without waking Ian, he climbs off the bed and wanders into the bathroom. His back pops when he stretches and he sighs in relief, then steps in front of the toilet to take a piss. It isn’t until he has already flushed that he realizes that the noise will probably wake up the sleeping sex god in his room.

After washing his hands and splashing water on his face, Mickey examines himself in the mirror. There are dark hickeys covering his collarbone and a few on his neck that he won’t be able to hide. A couple even larger marks stand out against the pale skin of his side, leading a trail down to more of them on his hips and two on one of his thighs. Jesus, that’s a lot of fucking hickeys.

When he steps back into his room, still completely naked, he finds Ian sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The redhead stretches his neck to either side and groans lowly at the soft cracks. He leans over and picks up his phone, turning the screen on and checking his messages.

“Gotta get home,” he announces, voice still thick with sleep. “It’s almost noon and I’ve got work this afternoon.”

“Alright. You’ve got a thing for hickeys,” Mickey points out with a smirk, and pulls a clean pair of boxers out of his dresser.

“That a problem?” Ian asks in amusement.

“Nah,” Mickey replies, tugging the boxers on. “Just want to make sure you know that you’re gonna run out of room.”

Ian shrugs in response, not yet awake enough to carry a decent conversation, and drags himself out of the bed. Mickey finishes getting dressed once Ian has disappeared into the bathroom. They remain in comfortable silence when Ian reappears, both enjoying the presence of the other while they get ready to face the day. Once they are both dressed, with Ian wearing one of Mickey’s tattered shirts, they finally take a moment to pause and look at each other.

“I like you,” Ian announces confidently. Mickey sucks in a breath and glances away, trying to figure out how the hell to reply to that. He doesn’t have a chance to find his words before Ian continues with a relaxed smile. “You don’t have to say anything, I can tell.”

Mickey closes his mouth and considers Ian for a moment. He doesn’t doubt that Ian can see through him, right to the part of him that is more than a little scared of this. It should just be sex, but there’s more than that now, maybe there always has been, and that is stupid. They know almost nothing about each other. That’s what seals it, actually, because Mickey doesn’t know anything about Ian and he really fucking wants to. Even if he tries to deny it, Ian already knows.

“Come on,” Mickey says instead, and opens the bedroom door.

“He emerges!” Iggy crows immediately as they enter the living room, prompting an obnoxious round of cheering from Mandy.

The pair is lounging on the couch, which is no longer covered in sick person blankets, and watching an old episode of Maury over breakfast. Ian is standing behind him, eyebrows raised at the unusual greeting. Mickey rolls his eyes.

“Douchebags, this is Ian. Ian, this is douchebags.”

“Iggy,” his brother calls in greeting, raising a hand lazily.

Mandy, however, rises from the couch and walks over to give Mickey’s new guy a closer look. This is typical Mandy, she’s always been more protective over her brothers, but for once she obviously likes what she sees. Her eyes rake over the taller boy’s form slowly, taking in every detail. They linger on his muscular arms before settling on his face. She raises her eyebrows.

“I’m Mandy and you’re gorgeous,” she says with a sickly sweet smile. “You don’t happen to be bi, do you?”

Before Mickey can swat at her and tell her to knock it off, Ian matches her smile with one of his own. He sure as hell knows what he’s doing, especially when his tongue darts out over his lips, and Mickey is left staring with both confusion and arousal stirring in his chest. On one hand, that’s pretty fucking hot, but on the other, Ian is fake-flirting with his sister. _What the fuck?_

“Not even a little bit,” Ian replies with an easy shrug.

“Damn, that’s a bummer. You sure? No exceptions?” she asks, almost sounding hopeful.

“Hundred percent. I know I’m irresistible, but you’ll just have to find another pretty boy to fuck.”

That draws a surprised laugh out of Mandy.

“You’re funny! I like you,” Mandy announces with a grin, then turns to her flustered brother. “Mickey, keep this one around.”

“I don’t plan on leaving. Kinda like him,” Ian says, pulling Mickey closer with an arm around his shoulders. “He’s growing on me.”

“Yeah, like a fungus.” Iggy pipes up from the couch behind them.

Mickey rolls his eyes and shoves Ian off good-naturedly, flipping Iggy off in the process. Mandy is chuckling, but it isn’t so much at him as at the frankly childish display they’re putting on, so he doesn’t bother giving her hell for it. Ian laughs as well and takes a step toward the door.

“Be careful on your way home,” Iggy calls, paying more attention to them now that Maury is on commercial. “There was another animal attack early this morning or some shit. Don’t want Mickey’s new guy getting mauled.”

Ian frowns, “I’m actually only like eight blocks over, but thanks for the warning. Crazy shit going on.”

He gives a wave to Iggy, then a nod and a grin to Mandy, and continues walking to the door. Mickey follows, walking him to the front of the house and pausing on the doorstep. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting, or if they even agreed to be more than an occasional fuck, but Ian turns to face him with a softer smile than he gave Mandy.

“I’m going out of town with my family on Thursday, going to be gone for a few days. No cell reception, so I’ll text you when I get back,” Ian explains. “Gives you a few days to decide if you want to brave having dinner at my place. They’ll want to meet you, if you want to do this.”

That’d be an answer on the relationship front. Mickey’s never done the whole “meet the family” thing and he’s glad to have a few days to think things over. He nods a confirmation, causing Ian’s smile to widen. He leans in and presses a firm kiss to Mickey’s lips, then steps back.

“See you,” he says and turns to make his way out of the yard before Mickey can manage a reply. Mickey watches him walk down the street with a smile on his face.

Yeah, he has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

A shower is the perfect place for Ian to let his mind run free.

It wanders, at first, to Mickey. Who would have known that someone like Mickey had been so close for so long? Sure, he’s a drug dealer and probably has a hell of a lot more going on in his life than Ian can guess at, but that’s small fries compared to the secrets Ian is hiding. Even now, relaxed and distracted, he can feel the growing power of the full moon humming in his veins.

As he rinses the cheap body wash off of his skin, he sighs and runs through his mental checklist. Liam needs to be dropped off at Sheila’s before they leave. His pack is still in need of refilling, too. When the full moon approaches, they’re all supposed to keep a bag on hand with an extra set of clothes, a water bottle, and some beef jerky. Those will all come in handy when they shift back.

Ian shuts the water off and walks back into his room with his towel wrapped tightly around his waist. He shakes his head sharply when he passes his older brother, who is sprawled out on his bed with a book, spraying him with droplets of water.

“The fuck, Ian?” Lip snaps, glancing up, but Ian is already focused on digging clean clothes out of their dresser.

They fall into their typical silence easily. There is a familiar underlying tension, brought about by the typical brotherly rivalry mixed with two strong alpha personalities. It drives Fiona, the true alpha of the family, up the fucking wall. When Ian finishes pulling a red t-shirt with a faded white design over his head, he finds Lip has set his book aside and is giving him an unimpressed look.

“You didn’t come home last night,” he says, the question in his voice clear - _where the hell were you?_

“Ran into a friend and went to his place for the night,” Ian explains simply. He doesn’t owe his brother any more than that.

Lip snorts and shakes his head. Ian leans back against the post of the bunk bed with a resigned sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest, settling in for a lecture that Lip has no business giving him, but that he stopped fighting years ago. It always comes anyway. He isn’t sure if it is because he’s younger or because he’s gay, but Lip and Fiona always seem to give him shit about the guys he hooks up with.

“You’ve been fucking this guy for a couple weeks now, Ian,” Lip points out. “That’s a pretty long time for a casual hook up.”

 _What?_ His raised eyebrows must communicate his surprise well enough, because Lip continues.

“It’s the tall guy again, right? The one who picked you up to go clubbing last week? I know you don’t go to just anyone’s house and he’s the only one you know well enough.”

This time, Ian is the one snorting.

“Travis? Hell no, I haven’t seen him in a week,” he says with a laugh. “It was the guy I met at work the other day.”

“The fucking _drug dealer?_ ” Lip asks incredulously, his eyes wide.

Ian rolls his eyes wordlessly and turns around to grab his backpack from under the bed. As he shoves a set of clean clothes into the tattered bag, Lip steps up behind him.

“You’re fucking insane, Ian! I know you like to pretend that you’re invincible, but people like him are fucking dangerous!” Lip continues harshly. “We have enough to worry about with some rogue werewolf attacking humans all over the fucking city; we don’t need to be worrying about your dumb ass because you can’t keep your dick in your pants!”

Ian laughs in disbelief. “Really? I’m the one who can’t keep it in my pants? Jesus, Lip, you’re dating a fucking psychopath and Fiona’s with a car thief who lied to us about _everything_ , right down to his name! How am I the one getting judged for this shit?”

Before Lip can reply, Ian grabs his bag and pushes past his brother. His footsteps rattle the frames on the walls as he stomps down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he starts stuffing the rest of the supplies he needs inside. Water, bottled and room temperature. Food, mostly the standard beef jerky, with a few granola bars for good measure.

Lip is standing at the bottom of the stairs when Ian finishes zipping the backpack up. He watches wordlessly as Ian tosses his bag into the pile that Fiona will load into Kev’s truck later and shoves on a pair of battered red chucks.

“Where are you going now?” Lip finally asks with a tired sigh, as if he’s dealing with a petulant child.

“I’ll be back before we leave,” Ian says in place of an answer and storms out of the house, slamming the door behind him. _Asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on tumblr as [mickeymilkchild](http://mickeymilkchild.tumblr.com/)!


	6. A/N: The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a heart to heart.

This is fic is done. Ill tell you the rest of the plot in a moment, but I want to explain myself first.

I can't find joy in this fandom anymore. I just can't. The show writers (and the show in general) have become so disrespectful that I don't even want to see season 6. The fandom is angry and disappointed, which is understandable, but the unnecessary drama is too much for me. it's time to cut my losses and move on to a less toxic environment. For me, for now, that is the Marvel fandom.

As for this fic? You've all stuck with me for quite a while and I appreciate your support. I don't want to leave you hanging, so here's the outline of the plot:

Ian runs into Travis and they have a chat. It's a break up, but Travis saw it coming, so they just talk for a bit about what they're hoping for in future relationships. Travis tells Ian that if he feels a connection, then he should go for Mickey.

The Gallaghers and Balls go to a cabin for the full moon. They hunt, play, and bond as a pack. Lip and Ian have a fight as tensions raise over who is in charge, but Fiona breaks it up and reminds them that she's the alpha.

When they get back, they find out that the number of animal attacks has spiked. One dead and six injured in just three days. In addition, the Gallaghers can smell Sammi's scent in their home. She hasn't been around since they ran Frank out of the pack. They realize that Sammi is probably somehow involved in the attacks.

Ian and Mickey become closer, but Ian also has to help his pack search for Sammi. Ian's secretive behavior makes Mickey suspicious. The fact that Ian seems to disappear whenever these animal attacks are happening makes Mickey even more nervous. Eventually, after overhearing a phone call that Ian received from Fiona, Mickey follows Ian to see what the hell is going on. This results is Sammi grabbing him and deciding that he will be helpful for her.

There's a big showdown once Ian realizes that she has Mickey and goes in to deal with her. Sammi is trying to demand a place for her and her son in the pack. He's young and turned for the first time just a bit ago, but she has no idea how to control or teach him. She and Ian both shift and fight, much to Mickey's shock and terror.

Ian wins, tells her off, and then shifts back to his human form. He takes Mickey to the hospital, where he is treated for his wounds and shock. Once they are both recovered and awake, they talk. Mickey is terrified, but he agrees to give Ian a chance. He joins the Gallaghers at the next full moon and gets to see how gentle the wolves can be. They fall in love and live happily ever after.

The end.

As always, I need to thank the amazing [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers/pseuds/MapsWindsor). I don't have enough words to properly explain how wonderful she is.

Farewell, Shameless fandom.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything you want to know about this AU or this fic, please feel free to ask!


End file.
